As the threat of an orcish siege loomed over Tilverton, the military settlement sat braced and ready. Whispers wound their way through the ranks, caution growing with each passing hour. By twilight, scouts crept through the surrounding hills, finding only silence—no campfires, no war drums. A strange quiet draped the forest, casting an eerie shadow over the defenders’ faces, doubt flickering behind watchful eyes.
It wasn’t until dawn broke over the Storm Horns that the truth finally revealed itself. A faint glow sparked atop a distant mountain, swelling into a blazing beacon. Irondrake Rock had lit its fires, sending a call for aid through the cold mountain air. More beacons flared to life, sending their message down the valleys: Irondrake Rock was under siege.
As defenders scrambled to answer, it became clear the orcs’ target had never been Tilverton at all. They say the battle at Irondrake Rock was brutal—a clash of steel and fury, dwarves and adventurers holding the line as wave after wave of orcs and other enslaved monsters crashed against them. When the snow settled, Irondrake Rock remained standing, but the price was dear. In the wake of this bloody defense, murmurs fill the barracks and taverns alike. Irondrake may have endured, but the mountain winds now carry a cold warning: the orcish horde has plenty to spare--what poor settlement will face their wrath next?